The Fall of the Elven Rings: Book of Galadriel
by trekker2000
Summary: (I apologize for any character/plot inaccuracies) (part 3 of 4) (See Fall of the Evenstar for part 1 and Book of Thranduil for part 2) Thranduil has fallen. Galadriel will fade, and no one can brighten her light again.
1. Chapter 1

Galadriel Part 1

"Thranduil is dead." The words were like a slap across her face. Galadriel closed her eyes for a moment, only opening them again when she felt Brydda's hand resting on her shoulder. "The orcs were seen off the side of Mirkwood."

Brydda lowered his head. "They come forth to kill us."

"Should we prepare forces?" The councilor asked.

"No." Galadriel replied. "I won't condemn my people to die for me. Thranduil had the forces and the cause, whilst we have neither."

"What would you have us do, my lady? Run from a fray?" The head of guards asked, pushing himself from his seat.

"That's exactly what we'd have you do." Brydda replied. They'd planned this all out when they'd heard the orcs were coming.

"Arwen the Evenstar is dead." The same councilor had told them in the early morning, whilst they still broke their fast. Brydda and Galadriel had shared a look, nodded, and thanked him for telling them.

The rest of that day and for many days afterward, they argued about what they should do.

"We should stay and fight!" Brydda had suggested.

"And how should we accomplish this. How many forces do we have? 20 thousand personal guard, a few thousand refugees who don't know how to fight? Thranduil had the Silven Elves, his own guard, most of the fighting men from the south, the Riders of Rohan, more than half of the men from Laketown, and a huge dwarvish host from Erebor.

"He had the forces. Elrond has the forces. We don't. Lothlorien does not have walls, the ability to make walls, no soldiers, and none who will come at our call. Our people will be butchered before these southron orcs get to us. Will you condone that?"

Brydda had sat in silence at Galadriel's bold defiance, her harsh words. "Hard, but true." Her king had finally replied. "How will we ever convince Miniver to stand down without a fight?"

The captain of guards was always head strong and bold to the last. Haldir had been the same way, just in a more discreet fashion. Galadriel had the sneaking suspicion that, in the end, his boldness and willingness to die for friends had been his death. Like father like son.

"I see no way to pull him out of the fighting. He will oppose us openly." Galadriel responded. She wasn't surprised Brydda didn't think twice about backing down. From heart to skin, he was soft and gentle and loving, almost so much that he didn't have the ability to command. "Perhaps we should send him to fight for Rivendell."

"You know he will never take the color of silver to adorn the color of darkened blue. He is deadly loyal to Lothlorien. You couldn't get Haldir to leave, and blood is thick."

"Yes, it is. How much longer before we will be swimming in it?"

"I won't stand down." Miniver jerked Galadriel back to her present, banishing the memories for the time being.

"So, you believe you can fight?" Brydda stood up, to best match the height of the elf across from him. That was a hard task to do. Miniver was huge, well-muscled and long-legged. Galadriel, Thranduil, a handful of his Silven Elves, a few men of Gondor, and a select handful of rangers could match his bulk and build.

"Yeah, I do."

"With what forces?" Brydda countered. "You have 20 thousand guard. That number can't hold against 20 billion orcs."

"The battles of Mirkwood are over. Men, if not dwarves, and the Silven Elves will surely come west."

"West, definitely. It isn't hard to pass Lorien by. And pass is by, they will. We are no army, Miniver."

"I can't just stand down. I must fight for those I swore my life to."

"Haldir swore his life. You were only his son, you don't have to fulfill his blood-words. Go to Rivendell, fight for the armies there."

Miniver lowered his head, his jaw clenched. "You don't have a choice. We're not giving one to you." Brydda replied.

"If you refuse me to die fighting for you, I shall die fighting for no one." Miniver growled, a sneer plastered onto his lips, his eyes alight with sadness and rage.

"Very well." Brydda dismissed Miniver for the moment, and the elf sat down with a huff of deep regret and sadness.

Galadriel turned to Calebrilindë, the elder medicine woman. "We have decided all injured shall leave Lothlorien first, Calebrilindë. Legolas Elvenking has invited injured to come to Mirkwood with all healers staff. Thranduil died on the eve of the growing season, and the best medicine leaf in Middle Earth will soon blossom. He is not willing to let merchants walk the ways west, for until the elven leaders win or die, the way will not be safe. What injured do you have, and what are your stores?"

"We have twenty children sick with the Gale."

Galadriel fought a shiver of fear. The gale ripped through younger elves more commonly, and there was no cure. Luck would win the sick their lives, or fail. Luck had been on Galadriel's side when she had been younger.

"Two elders are afflicted with Festering."

Elves were timeless and couldn't get sick in the same ways the mortals did. Festering was the term for a wound that had become infected. Immortality was like a wound, and not all gave it up such as Arwen. Younger elves suffered the Gale, elders the Festering. Not all did. But all elders whose immortality faded hardly ever lived. Galadriel was lucky she wouldn't die of Festering. Children who survived the Gale couldn't get sick with the Festering when they were older.

Most other species felt like immortality was set in stone. Far from that. A strike of a blade or arrow could kill, and immortality was not strong inside every elf.

You couldn't restore immortality once it began to fade. All you could do is stay to comfort the afflicted and try to minimize their pains.

Some elves chose a mortal life, Arwen had. Most children that didn't die from Gale would live as a mortal. Very few had been as lucky as Galadriel to survive. Elders who began to lose that strength wouldn't survive its fleeting. Arwen had been but a child, had not lived pass the possibility of the span of years of the mortals.

All of the elves in this clearing right now would die, should the warmth of the Eldar ever decide to leave.

"There are a few younger boys with training yard injuries, and should recover in a few days. One boy is still fast asleep."

A few weeks ago, a boy had fallen from the trees and been swept down into the rapids of the river. His heart still beat, the Eldar still held him, but his eyes would not open.

"Our stores should be well enough to make the trip." Calebrilindë finished. Brydda nodded.

"Get ready. We shall see you off down the road east on the first light of the morrow." Galadriel told Calebrilindë. The medicine woman nodded and bustled off.

Next, Brydda turned to the board of four villagers, who spoke for elder and younger of both genders.

Belarathien was a wizened old elf, so old she remembered thousands of years from across the seas, before the elves even came to Middle Earth. Thranduil had been born in the first age, along with Galadriel. Elrond had been born in the second age. Belarathien was one of the very few elves who had age lines on her face.

Despite those lines, she still looked beautiful and enchanting.

"We won't like leaving. It will be hard to convince our people, the elders in particular, to leave this place. It has been our only true home." Belarathien said.

"We have already seen the world." The male elder, Rill, replied. His husked voice was becoming hard to hear, and everyone gravitated closer to him to hear his words. "The world has becoming boring, fickle and full of sadness. Only in Lothlorien do I wish to endure."

"Agreed." The male young elf, Nilla, spoke out.

Galadriel was surprised. She'd expected the elders to prefer to stay, but the younger ones, she'd figured, would be enthusiastic.

"What are you, a Hobbit?" The female young elf, Lómiodien, scorned. "Have you no heart to see what you have not seen as yet?"

"I would call you a dwarf, so quick to anger." Nilla replied.

"Perhaps you should stay here to die, if you fear change so much." Lómiodien shot back.

"Please, my children, do stop your arguing." Belarathien sighed. The youngsters obliged, though grudgingly.

"Perhaps we should hear Lómiodien speak about this accusation." Rill said. Everyone looked towards the young girl.

Lómiodien was certainly handsome, silver hair streaming to just below her shoulders, bright blue eyes clear and bright. She was tall and lanky but strong and graceful as well. She was also smart, and despite her young age, gave wise council. Every one of the other elves had discovered this already, and listened to all she said. When she talked, she never broke a stride.

"The orcs of the south are coming. Thranduil thought he could hold them back with his strong forces, and on the first battle, he won. But not without a price. Over 3 thousand lives were lost, and only a tenth of the orcs strength had been used. The creatures withdrew. If they had stayed strong, Mirkwood would have been crushed right then and there.

"Thranduil made the orcs keep coming. They tried to establish a foothold in Dol Guldor, and failed. Only at the expense of a few hundred warriors. Other border battles were fought. Erebor was attacked. Near millions of elves and men and dwarves had died before Thranduil gave up his life.

"Near millions. We hardly have 20 thousand. Lothlorien has no walls or greater defenses, only a few soldiers. A few are easily overwhelmed by many. The orcs are nasty creatures. When their northern friends were bent on the destruction of men, they murdered villages and towns. Mothers. Children. Fathers. Crippled. Sick. Injured. Even the unborn. Lothlorien is just a village with a little more arms. Imagine what these angry orcs from the south, bent on revenge, can do.

"Sure, they just want Galadriel and Brydda. And they'll take them. But if you give them cause, they will slaughter Lothlorien until our blood flows instead of our river. They're hungry and angry, and orders can't fly fast enough. The slaughter will happen after they take the queen and king, even if it should be against the will of the Leader.

"Mirkwood has pardon, they're ready to take us in until Lothlorien becomes safe again. We won't be leaving Lothlorien for good. Only for a few years, a hundred at the worst. Near all of us will see Lothlorien again.

"Would you rather die in Lothlorien, or leave so you can see it safe again?"

The hall was silent after Lómiodien finished speaking. Everyone felt the power of the words. Sure, Urik-Hai were built to follow orders, but orcs were just hungry, trolls dim witted, goblins greedy. Mirkwood had barely survived. Burning and blood were everywhere, all because Thranduil though he was bold enough to avert a prophecy.

"Her words ring true." Galadriel said. "We won't make you leave if you are unwilling. We will, however, insist that you do, and find a means for your escape."

Nilla looked down at the ground, studying his wringing hands that sat in his lap. Rill was nodding his head, slowly, rhythmaticly. Galadriel knew the words going through his head without him saying them.

"_Sometimes, home is hard to leave,_

_Sometimes to leave is the easiest thing,_

_Sometimes leaving is hard but safe,_

_Or easy but dangerous. _

_Stepping out your door is a dangerous business,_

_For you see the road _

_And you think of all you can see and feel,_

_And your foot takes that first step_

_Upon that earthen road,_

_And soon home is of no consequence,_

_And it dwindles behind you._

_You have all those things in the front, _

_Shadow and light,_

_Mist and clarity, _

_Joy and grief,_

_Day and night._

_All these things become you,_

_Leaving home changes you,_

_Makes you into all these things._

_You become tempered like hard steel,_

_Clean and capable of killing._

_Home is behind, _

_The world is ahead,_

_There is so much to do,_

_Many paths to tread, _

_And tread them all,_

_You shall"_

The Hobbits were very fond if these words, and said many different versions of them many times. The most common time one would hear some variation would be before a tale should be told.

Galadriel had learned much and more about the Hobbits when the Company of the Ring had passed through many years ago.

Belarathien broke the silence. "The Elders will move, when they are swayed." Rill nodded. The elders stood and left.

"I can say the same to the younger elves, and they should come eagerly, if I tell them they might once return." Lómiodien said. Nilla sighed and agreed, though reluctantly.

"Good." Galadriel and Brydda stood at the same time. Just like with Celeborn, it all came naturally. They hardly planned anything at all, unless it was a matter that would affect Lothlorien.

Galadriel hadn't expected the elders to agree to an evacuation so fast, and was glad for Lómiodien. The elf was wise beyond her years, Galadriel knew, and the queen would be hesitant to choose anyone else to take her place. She believed Lómiodien was the reason anyone had agreed at all.

Wise words sway even the most stubborn of minds.


	2. Chapter 2

Galadriel Part 2

Galadriel sat on a rock on a ledge that overlooked the river. The water was peaceful and flowing gently here. It was hard to remember that there were rapids. A lot of elves did. That's why that child was asleep right now. Because he'd forgotten.

Galadriel let go of the hilt in her hand. The blade spun once before her fragile, pale, thin hand reached up and caught it. She turned the tip of the blade skywards.

The blade itself was a shimmering silver that reflected the light of the sun strongest. The hilt was white, made of the sister gem to that of the ring of power she wore on her finger, Nenya, the Ring of Air. The guard was a splay of leaved branches of the trees that could only be found in Lothlorien.

All elves that had ruled this forest had held this blade.

When Celeborn had died, Galadriel had, by rights, taken up the blade. Though she loved Brydda, she wouldn't give the blade to him. It felt strange. It felt like giving away the last true part of Celeborn.

Celeborn had cared for the enchanted blade, and Galadriel had too. She only hoped her child would as well.

Elrond had grown up to be a holder of one of the rings. The son she had born with Brydda would too.

Galadriel was lost in thought when Brydda came into the clearing. She didn't realize he was there until he had sat behind her, wrapping his arms around her stomach and scooting forward until her back was against his side. He put his chin on her shoulder, kissing her neck for straightening out to look at what she was.

"The Blade of Wind. A majestic thing." Brydda whispered.

"Yes." Galadriel agreed, letting her back slouch a little and rubbing the side of her head against the side of his. Galadriel wanted nothing more than to nuzzle and kiss Brydda. She was afraid. But like every other time, she couldn't let fear rule her. She had a last duty as queen of Lothlorien.

Galadriel set the blade aside and told Brydda, "I'd love to. I want to. But we can't, not now." Brydda nodded and Galadriel kneeled in front of the rock.

Her thin fingers pushed dirt and plant and root away, her hand going deeper into the cool earth. When the hole was deep enough so anything buried in it wouldn't be misplaced or washed away with a heavy rain, Galadriel looked at Nenya longingly.

This ring had given her true power over the forest. One could rule without it, but Galadriel knew she couldn't. The ring helped her function. "I can't let anyone else hold Nenya. I can't let them fall into this reliance on a ring."

Brydda sat on the rock where she'd left him, staring and listening silently. "It controlled me. I won't let it control anyone else." Galadriel said as she pulled Nenya off her finger and dropped the stone into the ground.

The clouds she could see in the sky began to twist and turn violently for a moment, dissipating with every little bit of dirt Galadriel pushed over the Ring of Winds, Nenya. The leaves of the Mellorn trees rattled together in the wind, twisting and turning and smacking into each other. The clouds in the sky were moving so fast, they seemed to be running from her.

Nenya was buried away, once and for all. Galadriel somehow knew it would never be found again, deep in its earthen prison. A breath of fresh air tickled her nose and stirred her silver hair, then everything around her went still. The only sound was that of the beating of her heart, her calm breaths, and the steady breathing of Brydda behind her.

"No one will ever have to suffer the power of Winds again." Galadriel whispered, her thin voice cracking. She wondered if Thranduil had found it this hard to take off.

They were leaving behind ultimate power, after all. The power of fire was the strongest, the power of wind the gentlest, and the power of water the calmest. Three virtues the elves valued most.

Fire was deathless, wind eternal, and water continuous. Fire was brazen, wind was wise, and water loyal.

Galadriel herself was all the things wind was, the eldest of the elders, the elf with the strongest touch from experience with many children, the wisest Elven Lord of them all. Thranduil had been hot and protecting of only his realm, with little regard for all others. Despite his faults, he was a fair friend. Elrond was slow to sway, but when he shared your opinions, he was the most loyal, though he was so paternal and kind he would drown in his sorrows, one moment or another.

Galadriel almost felt as if she would drown in her sorrows. It was inexplicable, this feeling that started to overwhelm her the moment she'd heard Arwen had been struck down.

_She might make it. _Galadriel remembered telling the lie to herself. _She might just make it. _Even though the sickness Arwen faced had been identical to the one in the prophecy.

_She didn't make it._ Had been Galadriel's first thought when news came. "Arwen Evenstar has faded." Galadriel had turned around then, sucking in breath in an attempt to keep her composure. The attempt had been, of course, futile. Galadriel had shoved her face into Brydda's chest and cried for hours. The king eventually had picked her up and laid with her crying all through four nights and five days.

_Maybe Thranduil will be not only bold, but stronger than we thought. Maybe he'll win. _Galadriel told herself, even though some part of her knew it could never be true.

The queen was so old, she almost felt young. Not only young, but afraid. Tears flew freely often, her mind buckling under the sadness like knees under dead weight. 'I don't want to die." Galadriel often murmured into Brydda's chest as he rubbed her back and hummed and told her everything was going to be okay. Just like one might do to a child.

"I don't either." Brydda had replied. "But the end of time comes for all beings, even elves."

The words were well-meant but did nothing to comfort Galadriel. She already knew the way it went, the song people sung to each other when somebody they loved died or they were about to die. _It'll be okay. Everyone must die, even the elves._ It was so mean, that others should find comfort in the death of elves. Galadriel would hate that phrase if it didn't bring a certain comfort to elves.

It reminded them their time had to end eventually, and that if they died now, it just might be a little earlier than expected.

That wasn't an excuse in Galadriel's mind. The idea of death still hurt, even though she'd lived fifty times the length of men. Nothing could comfort her.

_Thranduil has died. _The news came one bright, crisp morning. The kind of morning you couldn't imagine to hold such ill news. _The woodland realm now belongs to Legolas. _

In those years of waiting, there had been little happiness. Galadriel hated herself for crying herself to sleep most nights. The union of Legolas and Tauriel and the birth of their child had been the only happy news.

"Why do I fear death so much?" Galadriel had asked Brydda one morning after her red eyes and pale face and haggard look stared back at her from a lake she had been bathing in.

Brydda had took her hands and kissed one finger. "Once for Celeborn." He kissed another finger. "For Haldir. For your mother. For your father. For your child." He kissed one finger for every title. "For another child, a childhood crush you never managed to love." He kissed the remaining three fingers. "One for each child. I could kiss your toes and each could hold the name of a child you lost."

Galadriel had looked down at her hands, floating in the air when Brydda let go of them. "You were known as a mother for a reason. Yet the children you conceived that survived to this day can be counted on two fingers, one is already one of the three elven lords and shall die next. The other is a child from my blood as much as yours, and will keep careful watch of Lothlorien whilst we dwindle into bare memories."

Galadriel had broken down. Even now, the thought hurt like wildfire streaming through her body. Brydda came up behind her again and held her around her waist, pulling her back down onto the rock. Just as Brydda wrapped his arms around her, Galadriel broke down.

Her king had been right. One sorrow for a lover, another for a friend, a third that had made her realize her womanhood had already come to pass. Most of the time, just the memory of those thoughts and wants made her blush, but as she remembered them this time, she didn't feel ashamed or worried or scared. Well, not scared about that kind of thing.

Another memory came streaming forth into Galadriel's mind.

She was asleep against Celeborn, his hand in the middle of her bare back. Gentle snores had been the thing that had lulled Galadriel into sleep in the first place.

More memories came to Galadriel as she cried against Brydda's chest, but for once she let them flow. Painful memories were her least-favorite to revisit, but they only came when they needed to be seen again, Galadriel had learned.

She was shivering, everything around her black. The rest of the world around her didn't seem to come to memory. _This was so long ago. _Galadriel was shivering, leaning against the very rock she leaned against now. Tears didn't come, but they wanted to. Celeborn appeared, walking to Galadriel, embracing her. "The child will come soon." He reassured her.

The next flash was filled with screams and blood, but ended in laughter and joy as she held her new baby boy in her arms. "Elrond." Celeborn whispered as he held her close. Galadriel agreed and kissed the feasting babe on the head.

Elrond must have been 50, long and lanky, black hair reaching down to his hips in gentle, natural waves. So young, Galadriel thought. So sad. Elrond held Galadriel's hand painfully tight, his face bunches as he fought tears and racking sobs. Galadriel stood and held the boy in her arms as he wept over the death of a friend.

Months later, Galadriel was weeping over a limp form already getting cold. Celeborn held her tight, sharing her mother's grief. The child had died whilst being born.

Looking back, Galadriel could feel the gut feelings rushing through her, no logic. She hadn't learned yet.

Galadriel herself nearly died when she brought another child had died a month before birth into the cold, dead world.

Many children died inside her womb, many more moments after birth. Yet all those deaths came rushing forth.

The most painful death had been the last child she'd conceived with Celeborn. Elrond had already become Lord of Rivendell, held a ring of power, found a wife, and conceived a child of his own. The child Galadriel had birthed wanted nothing more to see his brother's child being born. Galadriel and Celeborn celebrated in food and wine on the anniversary of his birth, celebrating the luck that had brought the child into their lives.

This one was going to stay.

A thousand years into his life, he finally reached manhood and all the blushing awkwardness towards women that came with it. Galadriel enjoyed watching him trip over asking several girls if they wanted to dine together.

His mother always held hope for him. That's how Celeborn had taken her maidenhood and they'd conceived Elrond. His awkwardness had been charming.

It wasn't long after that sickness befell him. Unlike most elves, any fleeting of immortality had started in the middle of his life.

Galadriel tended him as he died so quickly, Galadriel didn't have a moment at the time to feel sadness. He couldn't keep food down, his lungs didn't take in air, his heart beat too fast, his brow heated too hot.

Word had gotten to Galadriel soon after: Elrond's child had been born. The exact same moment her second longest living child had died.

The boy's name never faded, she still had journals written by him and for him. It just hurt too much, even now.

Elrond had been in a rage inside. He hadn't foreseen the blood that would drape his daughter, Arwen's, birth.

"Nobody could have." Galadriel told him. "She was born on the eve when a blood member died in suffrage. Thranduil, you, me. None of us could see it. It speaks of our deaths, Elrond."

Elrond knew it was true, yet harbored no ill will to anything after he'd learned the truth.

Galadriel held onto Brydda as if her life was depending on it. Maybe it was.

"Time hurts." She whispered.

"Yes."


	3. Chapter 3

Galadriel Part 3

Alacla stared back at Brydda as if he had gone insane. Maybe he had. Then she had as well.

"What do you mean, Lothlorien is mine?" Alacla asked.

Brydda sighed as Galadriel answered. "It means you have leave to rule it, once we leave, of course."

"Where in Middle Earth could you be going that you would give your kingdom to me?"

"To our deaths." Alacla jumped, startled by Brydda's answer.

"Don't scare the child." Galadriel chided.

"That's exactly what she is. A child. How can you expect her to rule Lothlorien when she can't even rule herself?" Brydda hadn't liked Galadriel's idea. Alacla wasn't true blood of his, Galadriel tried to remember. It was hard to respect a child of someone else's blood, even if they were dead.

"Compared to me, you are but a child, yet I have birthed seven of your own." Galadriel reminded Brydda. "Elrond was but a child when he came to hold a ring of power and fathered Arwen. If Elrond weren't Lord of Rivendell, he would take our place. You have to remember, Alacla is the blood of Celeborn, and a rightful king before any of your own children should be."

Brydda huffed as Galadriel turned back to her daughter. "It is our time to die. Will you take responsibility and lead our people to the safety of Mirkwood? Will you lead them back and care for them when the danger has passed?"

The girl seemed to consider the proposition. "Do I truly have a choice?"

Galadriel flinched. The child had never been one for responsibility, she felt as if she ruined everything she touched. Something inside of her told Galadriel secretly she'd hoped Alacla would banish those terrible thoughts for just a moment, and make this moment easy. But no, Alacla always had to do things the hard way.

"Truly, no." Alacla nodded silently.

"Then I shall accept the duty."

Brydda and Galadriel bowed their heads before stepping out into the clearing to all the elves of Lothlorien.

Everyone had gathered all their belongings. Children were in cloaks way too big for them. Sick and injured who couldn't travel lay in wagons. Each elf had everything they needed and could care about for the moment.

"Elves of Lothlorien!" Galadriel called over the din of everyone finishing packing and ready to leave. Hundreds of pale faces turned around, thousands of pale blue eyes stared up, searching for reassurance. Galadriel couldn't even stem the flow of her own tears, in the end. Why would everyone expect her to dry their tears as well? "It is time to leave. I, however, will stay here."

There were dozens of gasps and protests in the crowed. "It is the only way for you all to stay safe, in the end." Galadriel silenced them. "By the end, you will need a new queen, and my daughter, Alacla, shall be that queen."

Once again, the audience was inclined to voice opinions and thoughts. They wanted her, Galadriel, the queen who had been their queen for thousands of years to remain their queen.

"You have no choice, and it should comfort you to know my choices are limited as well. You will take Alacla as queen or you will never return to Lothlorien."

Many protests rang out at the statement. "We could stay here in the first place!" Someone yelled. Galadriel understood their reluctance to leave their home. She just couldn't let it happen.

"Stay, and the orcs will kill you. Leave, and they will spare you. I would say it is your choice, but it isn't. I won't let you stay to die for nothing. Go for safety. Just know you will not return if you will not follow the choices of Alacla."

The assembled elves looked up at Galadriel, glared at Alacla, and murmured for her to protect them.

"I am trying!" Galadriel called, her voice breaking and rising to a near scream. "I am trying to protect you!"

Brydda put a strong hand on her shoulder gently, drawing her into his embrace. "I am trying." Galadriel kept calling, but the elves seemed to get more and more hesitant and scared at Galadriel's edge. Brydda and Celeborn and Haldir were the only ones who knew who she was on the inside.

Concerned murmurs raised up from the crowd. Sentiments like, "What's wrong?" and "Are you okay?" rose above the others.

"No!" Galadriel called, pulling away from Brydda. "I'm not okay! I am doing everything I can to protect. I care for you, you are my children! Yet you refuse your new queen and wonder why I weep? Do you not have a care for me as I do for you?"

Brydda was shocked, but the crowd simpered and replied together. "We care for you, my queen! We do not wish to leave you!"

"So that is it? You love me so much you would kill my soul before you would replace me? I will stop at nothing to protect my children, but only if they should want it." Galadriel called. "You stay, and you die at the hands of orcs. I couldn't let myself let you do that. You say you bare me love?"

"Yes!" The call rose from every mouth.

"If it is true love you harbor for me, then you will take Alacla as your new queen. For the love you so rightly claim to bare me, leave for your safety." Galadriel's voice dropped off at the end of the sentiment.

Her people traded whispers as their queen fell back. Brydda wrapped one arm around her stomach and used the other to stroke her hair slowly. Galadriel herself put a comforting and boldening hand on Alacla's shoulder.

A few dared to raise their voices and say, "No!" over the calls of, "Alacla!"

The tall, slender girl blushed fiercely. Galadriel remembered blushing herself so many times when her people made it clear they accepted and adored her. It made her blush sometimes just remembering a day when she had been treated as such.

Brydda was running his fingers through her hair, holding her close with the other arm. The silver waves ran down to her lower back, and prickles rose on her skin under her gown where Brydda's fingers brushed over. His lips kissed the side of her head gently, and his tounge claimed a salty tear she hadn't realize she'd shed.

The queen sighed as she turned back out to the crowd after sharing a kiss. Alacla had told them to finish readying to leave somewhere in the far off distance.

Galadriel pried Brydda's hand off her waist and slowly they parted hands as she stepped down from the dais, one look telling Brydda to lay off for a few minutes.

Galadriel felt like she was in a dream. And just like when she was in a dream, she floated around, nothing seemed too real or permanent. A white haze filled the air.

Some of the younger elves were weeping as they packed.

One was a tall, slender girl with a willowy frame and small hips, stuffing some clothing in a sack, whilst her own silver gown tugged at her legs, being teased by the wind. Galadriel noticed her by her snuffling and attempt to stifle her tears.

"What is your name?" Galadriel asked, hoping she wasn't being too patronizing.

Red, puffy eyes and a nose that looked weary of being dabbed greeted her. She sniffled again and asked, "What?"

"What's your name?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." The girl apologized, and Galadriel was about to insist an apology wasn't needed, but she was afraid the girl would never say her name if she was interrupted. "Urithraviel."

Galadriel nodded. "That is a very pretty name. Do you know where it came from?"

For a few moments, it seemed as if Urithraviel hadn't heard, but Galadriel was about to speak up when the child finally did. "No. I've forgotten. I used to know." The girl shook her head again, before whispering "I've forgotten."

Galadriel put a hand on her shoulder, and the girl jumped and remained tense for a few minutes, before apparently realizing Galadriel would do her no harm. "Why do you weep?"

"My father and husband were in the guard. When the Head came and told them they had the choice to go to Rivendell to fight or stay with the guard or join the Silven Elves of Mirkwood, they both packed up and left for Rivendell. I am frightened, and now I must have my first child alone, for my husband has left to fight in the last reaches of the war."

"You weep for fear and loneliness." Urithraviel nodded, then her head snapped around.

"Alycla?" She called as the front of the line, the part Galadriel had already been too, started to move, with Alacla riding at the front on a huge white horse. "ALYCLA!" Her calls quickly became frantic as the line behind her and next to her moved.

"Who is Alycla?" Galadriel asked, while pushing people weeping for one reason or another on, reminded the people who walked as if in a dream to keep going.

"My little brother!" Urithraviel called over the din of hundreds, thousands, moving. "ALYCLA!"

"You have to go!" Galadriel screamed back. The creaking of wheels and screaming or laughing of children and the tears of leaving a life behind and the pained screams of someone birthing a child nearly overwhelmed her. Galadriel pushed and shoved at the young girl. "Urithraviel! You can find your brother on the road or at Mirkwood!"

"I don't know if he is coming! He likes to sleep late! What if I leave him behind to die?!" Urithraviel's voice bridged into the territory of frantic and high pitched.

Galadriel noticed children and a mother too weary to walk peering out of their wayn, and grabbed Urithraviel's hand, tugging her violently. "Take her! TAKE HER!" Galadriel screamed, shoving the girl to the moving tent more forcefully. "Help her find her brother!" The mother reached a hand out and grabbed Urithraviel's wrist, her two older children pulling on her other arm, the youngest of the three helping at the torso.

Anguished cries of "ALYCLA!" Faded with the fast moving crowd, and Galadriel found herself scrambling to not to be caught in the crowd. Everyone was breaking into a run, if not a run a fast trot. The elves of Lothlorien were leaving their only home.


	4. Chapter 4

Galadriel Part 4

She felt Brydda's hand on her stomach, the other one brushing the hair from her brow. Galadriel didn't realize the wetness on her cheeks until Brydda slowly whipped it away. She also didn't realize she was breathing heavy until the hand on her stomach seemed compressing until she took a moment to regulate her breathing.

Slowly, Galadriel sat up, pushing her own messy tangle of silvery hair from her face. Brydda used the inactive hand to support her back. Next to his stillness, Galadriel realized she was trembling. Her ears seemed to unclog suddenly and Brydda's comforting whispers chased her into reality.

"I don't even know what was happening." Galadriel whispered faintly, brushing the last of her tears from the brim of her eyes.

"Listen." Brydda whispered, putting two fingers over her lips. Far away, the sound of screaming trees filled the air, trampling feet, disturbing nature.

Galadriel's eyes widened until they burned. "The orcs are here." Brydda nodded sadly and stood up. Galadriel took the hand he offered. "I must have sensed them." Galadriel said as Brydda grunted whilst pulling her up.

"Yeah." Brydda nodded slowly. Galadriel didn't notice until she looked in his eyes. His large fingers traced the side of her face, cleaning out her hair. Brydda was staring at her, looking deep into her soul. He had eyes that mirrored her own. Bright, shining blue, his straight silver hair gleamed brightly, his gentle lips the only disturbance on his pale face.

Brydda was probably studying her too. The orcs drew near, and neither knew what was going to happen. This could be their last chance together.

Desperate to remember forever what he tasted like, Galadriel bent forward and met his lips. For long moments Brydda kissed back, his strong arms holding her close. Really close. They shared a heat for one last time.

The angry stomping of orc feet seemed to echo the closer it got. The trees were being pinned to the ground by the surging forces. Everything that had been left behind was being taken if it was valuable or destroyed if it wasn't, Galadriel knew. At least there were no screams and there was no blood and there was no death.

Well, not counting them. Because every step the orcs got closer, Galadriel and Brydda came closer to their ends, and they both knew it. She counted the long seconds in her head, bringing Brydda as close as she possibly could, their arms intertwining and holding each other as their lips tasted the others' and their tounges danced the dance of passion.

It wasn't long before Galadriel lost count of the seconds that had turned into minutes that seemed to but must not have truly turned into hours.

It wasn't long until the orcs arrived, and their savage clawed hands were reaching and pulling. Galadriel felt the absence of Brydda and snapped open her eyes. Half his face was bloody. She screamed as claws racked down her own arm, tearing open skin from shoulder to wrist. Some of the fabric of her silvery gown was ripped from her legs.

"STOP." The growl rang out, silencing the crowd of swarming orcs and Urik-Hai and Goblins. Brydda was on the ground, a pool of his own blood surrounding him.

Galadriel let out a scream. She just couldn't figure out if it was pain from the rips in her flesh, fear at the sight of the blood, wariness of sadness. Or maybe she was just screaming, an alarm, as if someone was hiding in the shadows. As if someone in this wide world had the audacity to help. As if anyone had the ability.

Leader strode forward, long, spindly legs fearsome.

"Take us, but please, spare this place and its people." Galadriel begged as the beastly creature came closer and closer to her, slowly.

"You are smart. You send your people away before they could get harmed." Leader growled. He turned to the crowd. "Storm towards Rivendell, but await me before you dare attack. If any scouts should attack you, of course kill them. If you so much as harm anyone if they did nothing to you, you will all die." He swiveled to a troll pulling a cart. "You, however, will stay. Galadriel can carry Brydda up and use the supplies to attend to the both of them."

Galadriel found her feet, though they were unsteady, and trembled over to Brydda. Blood was streaming from more wounds then she could count. "Brydda." She whispered, using his left arm to drape his body onto her side. "Brydda."

His eyes flickered, but he didn't say anything. His mouth opened a little bit and blood poured down his chin. A moan escaped his cracked lips, and his right arm twitched, though wasn't able to move far.

As she limped past, using all of her strength to glare at Leader, Galadriel growled under her breath, "You want us to die, so why not cut us down here and now?"

The Leader clicked his tounge impatiently. "You and I both know the true manner of your death is not by blade but by solitude. We shall make our way south, where you shall die."

Galadriel didn't want to go south. She didn't want to die, but if she had too, and she did, she certainly didn't want her manner of dying to be drawn out, insufferable, killing. She didn't want to cry to death.

The tears came anyway, when the troll began to move, and the cart bucked and shivered across uneven ground. Sobs racked her body as she laid Brydda down gently. There was a deep bowl of water and many cloths. Some dried herbs were tied together in silks the color of mourning, and Galadriel recognized them as herbs to take the pain away, draw out most poisons, to put someone to sleep, you name it. Galadriel grasped a huge bundle of kingsfoil, and set it in the bowl.

Most of the water spilled onto Galadriel's lap when the wheel of the cart jarred against a root. Brydda slid to the other side of the cart. Galadriel slowly and carefully drew him back.

Blood was staining his silver hair and his wounds were piles of red torn flesh.

Galadriel used her nails to dig into the plant, crushing it and mulling it around in the bowl. "Heal these wounds." Galadriel began the chant in elvish. She stopped to think for a moment before pulling the sogging mess of the plant out of the water. "This plant is sacred, a plant of kinds and true healers of the court."

The laid the mess of the wounds on his face and chest, packing the moss down thickly. "This is the plant of mages. We, the firstborn, have harnessed the powers of this plant and cared for it, whilst other races have called it but a weed, and cast it out. We took it in, and care for it, whilst others put it out on its own."

She plucked up the bowl and angled it on its side so the water with the traces of the plant would stay in one place. The root of kingsfoil was also in the bundle, and she plucked two of the long, spindly roots. She used her front teeth to gnash the roots, and dumped them in the solution.

"The elves of Eldar had long protected the Kingsfoil, most noble of all plants. We, in return, ask for your help in this one matter."

Galadriel stopped swirling the water and tipped it over the wounds, spilling small portions of the enhanced water over the plant covered wound.

"This elves skin is torn. It needs mending. His blood is sour. It needs cleansing. His time is ending. He needs renewal. All these things, you can give, should you chose too. This elf has cared for your kind long years. He has done many good things."

The light of the Eldar was creeping out from Galadriel, she could see the white flames dancing along her arms and legs. "We ask for your divine power."

The light began to seem to flow from Galadriel into the plants, then into Brydda. Elvish medicine was a miracle, nearly magical in its own rights.

Galadriel set to work peeling the torn and shredded Kingsfoil from the wounds, and found the skin scabbing over, then the scabs fading into his pale complexion. The Kingsfoil had saved his life.

Galadriel sighed and found her conciseness fading quickly into oblivion that desperately didn't want to be cured.


	5. Chapter 5

Galadriel Part 5

She awoke to darkness. It wasn't a dark such as that children feared, it was a darkness children could never see. It wasn't a fake darkness, it was a very real thing. It wasn't empty darkness, it was full.

Though full of what, Galadriel could never figure out.

_Do my eyes deceive me? _Galadriel wondered as she moved or arm, or thought she did. The darkness was like a blindness, as if she'd blinked and never opened her eyes again.

Galadriel lay very still, as still as she could. At first, she'd moved around, trying to figure out her surroundings, or if there was any way to strike light. It wasn't long before she'd abandoned such pursuits. Every movement made the endless black seem to spin, although in which manner Galadriel couldn't tell.

Her new world was not only dark, but totally silent. Her mouth and throat was dry, and as soon as she had awoken, Galadriel had tried to make a sound. Nothing came out but a tiny squeak, and even that seemed to echo and bounce around everything.

In a fit of frustration at her total fear of this oblivion, Galadriel had put all of her remaining energy into thrashing. She couldn't tell if her arms and legs had actually moved until the arm that had been torn up slammed against what Galadriel figured was an earthen wall, and pain shot up her arm and into the rest of her body, bringing a gasp and scream to her lips.

The blackness pressed in only the more closer when she screamed because nothing reacted. It seemed so far away a faint murmur of surprise arose at the sudden disturbance she had created. A chill began to creep into her then.

It was impossibly cold all of the sudden, Galadriel thought as she refused to move again. A wetness was beginning to flow down her arm that could only have been blood.

Galadriel put her uninjured arm down, flat on the soft and warn earthen ground. Gathering her injured arm across her chest, she slowly sat up, then put one leg under her body. She tested the strength of the wiry limb, and it trembled, nearly throwing Galadriel on the ground again. She quickly stuck her other foot under her to help spread out her weight more evenly.

Pushing herself up, she used her injured shoulder to add support against the wall. It too was cool and smooth dirt, packed thickly, and Galadriel didn't want to fathom why.

The world seemed to be spinning, the darkness drowning and suffocating at the same time. Galadriel leaned against the cool wall, digging up the courage to lift her hand.

Her spatial awareness was awry, and Galadriel was afraid of hurting herself. She couldn't tell how far away from her face her hand was, and every centimeter it inched closer felt like it was really moving miles as a bird flies.

She found the edge of her face, right under her jaw, with her fingers. The skin was filled with pinpricks from the chill, sticky from blood and sweat, with wiry hairs webbed across her face. Galadriel moved her hand along the edge of her face, following her smooth jaw line. She came to the base of her ear and stopped, puzzling where to lead her fingers next.

You don't truly realize the plains of your face until you trace them, Galadriel thought with a sigh.

Finally deciding to go in towards her face, there was a hissing behind her. Galadriel closed her eyes, deciding staring into darkness was worse than if you fell asleep in it.

Slowly, her finger reached a hollow. All Galadriel could think about was that she was lucky in having closed her eyes before her fingers had found them. She continued to trace around the hollow slowly, being extraordinarily careful not to push too hard, until her fingers stumbled next to a rise on her face. Galadriel traced her fingers in the direction that could only have been up along the side of her nose, until she felt her hairline.

Simple, Galadriel thought as the single finger she'd used to trace her face was joined by her other fingers to pull at the crazy strands of hair that were plastered around her face.

Soon, she found control of all the fly-aways. Using her good hand, that was now dripping with blood and sweat, she flattened the stubborn once slivery strands of hair with the rest of the collective that hung down over her shoulders.

Galadriel had put all her mind into being careful in this total darkness that she hadn't noticed the fierce hissing emanating from the back of her new world for longer than but a moment. Now that she had time to lean against the earthen wall and breathe deeply, the sound seemed to shatter everything Galadriel had thought she'd known about this place. And what she knew wasn't much.

She hadn't even realized she was in a cage, a prison with bones and roots for bars, until a torch flickered on and total darkness shattered into something more casual and friendly.

"Hello?" Galadriel asked tenitivly, cautiously leaning on the bone and root bars of her cage. There was a snorting growl, and a fat orc came forth to the edge of the other room he was in. There were smashed pieces of wood laying all around the opening, as if someone had broken out. Or broken in.

The orc took a hissing breath, and Galadriel realized it must have been him she'd heard at the back of her cage.

The foul creature turned back over his shoulder and nodded, froth falling from his gnashing teeth. One of his paws swiped frantically at the air, and the biggest Urik-Hai Galadriel had ever seen came striding in the room that must have been set aside for guards. The creature grunted and wheezed as he pulled himself through the rather small doorway into the corridor with the cages built into the wall.

A smaller goblin no higher than the knees of the first orc came brushing through the door, slid under the huge Urik-Hai's legs, and pushed open a stiff-leather bag that hung from his neck on a thin strap. Inside the scorched hide, there were flaming bits of sticks. How they didn't burn through the material, Galadriel couldn't know.

The goblin grasped one of the twigs in his soot-stained hands and rushed to the first floor-torch. When he threw the small piece of wood inside the top, dead leaved, dried flesh, and brittle bones caught fire.

The sudden flash of light made Galadriel cry out, and lift her good arm to cover her eyes until they could adjust to the sudden change. Her legs were still wavering, and when the let go of the cage door, they buckled and Galadriel fell back. On her way down, she stuck her arms out, both good and injured, in terror, hoping to grab onto something.

Her injured arm screamed in agony as it hit the earthen wall next to it full force, and the nails on both hands were torn and ragged as they dug into the smooth earth, franticly trying to claw her way back up to a standing position. When she hit the ground, her head smacked against the floor with such force the air was torn from her lungs and tears sprang into her eyes.

Every part of Galadriel screamed in pain now. She'd strained her legs too hard and now they were trembling like leaves in gale-force winds, bruises and bloody cuts slashing apart her pale skin. Looking to the walls, she saw deep marks spanning from her standing height to maybe a foot from the ground. The scars on the perfect wall were dripping with blood, some of her nails still gouged deep into the wounds she'd inflicted. Her wounded arm was aching more, and bleeding a little from her having split the scabs that had formed over the scratch wounds and orc had given her.

Galadriel pulled herself into a sitting position, and reached out her slender fingers to grasp the bars of her containment unit. Her fingers were trembling in fright, but that wasn't what was keeping them from a solid grip. Her blood coated her fingers, the sticky red substance making her fingers slip and her arms strain.

The goblin was still running down the impossibly long corridor, throwing flaming sticks into braziers. For the first time in hours, Galadriel could see again.

She watched the goblin run back down the opposite side, and when the torches on the door opposite her were lit, Galadriel could see Brydda, curled up, his silvery hair stained through with his blood. Galadriel figured she must look pretty bad, too.

There was a tall, slender boy, or young man, in the grip of the huge Urik-Hai. He was not asleep, but painfully awake, struggling and pulling, but his captor was too strong.

Galadriel caught a look at his face as the orc slammed him onto the ground full force, the air torn from his lungs.

It was an elf, not so young as he had looked before. He wore the robes of Rivendell, his hair was jet black, his brow severe, his eyes intense, his lips relatively thin, whilst his chin and jaw was strong. He gasped, his hands clutching on the ground for some leverage against the full force of the Urik-Hai.

"Elrond?" Galadriel gasped, foolishly. Leader had told the orcs to wait for him to kill Elrond, and he would be along when she and Brydda were dead. The elf furrowed his brows and responded.

"No. I am Elrond's son, Elladen, twin to Elrohir. Would that be you, Milady Galadriel?" The Urik-Hai growled at Elladen and pulled him up. The boy was slammed against the dirt wall next to the open cage until blood was streaming freely and his consciousness had faded.

Galadriel couldn't help herself, she screamed. The orc laughed and reached his huge paw through a gap in the weaving of bone and root, and grasped at her. She screamed louder when his claws met her flesh and she felt her chest tear to near ribbons.

"EY! Leave 'er alone!" Galadriel heard the gaoler grumble, and the attacking orc backed off with a snort. Galadriel found herself falling again. This time her head hit the ground so hard she fell into unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

Galadriel Part 6

Screams and wails awoke her this time.

"NO! HELP!" A young voice, Elladen, wailed. Galadriel used blood-soaked hands to pull herself up to the bars.

There was a huge tub of water dominating the hall. Brydda was plastered to the front of his cage, directly in front of her. His pale face was blood stained but healthy. As healthy as one could get in an orc dungeon.

Leader strode into the room. He looked at Brydda and Galadriel rather fondly.

"You can't kill him!" Galadriel found herself screaming. "You said you wanted us to die before you killed Elrond! Elladen is his oldest son! You cannot kill and heir!"

Leader chuckled softly, and snapped the bonds holding Elladen's hands behind his back. "There is a second son. The house of Halfelven should not die so easily.

"Besides, the boy's death is his own fault. He went riding against his father's own wishes. We will, of course, send the body of the boy back to his father."

"NO!" Elladen's voice was ragged and cracked, hoarse and tired of being strained. "Please! My lord Brydda! My Lady Galadriel!"

Galadriel reached her hand out, but Leader smacked it away, tearing up her good hand with his claws. "Oh, my lady, please forgive me. I did not mean to slice your flesh."

Brydda spat at him, but Leader ignored it.

Instead, he shoved Elladen to kneel before the sloshing water. The orc's huge paw grabbed the back of Elladen's head, fingers grasping on to hair. Elladen pulled and strained, but Leader held him fast. The boy was panting and murmuring and crying, trying to pull away. Strands of his beautiful black hair came free of his scalp piece by piece, prompting blood to pour down from his head.

"No, please, no no no no no." Elladen wept fiercely, whilst he continued to struggle towards the freedom that danced away menacingly.

Leader had no remorse. His muscles strained against Elladen's effort, the young boy was actually quote strong and well trained. In the end, the tip of the boy's nose brushed the water. Elladen screamed, his voice harsh.

"No!" Galadriel cried out.

Elladen's whole face was pushed under, but his strength allowed the boy to pull himself up for a quick gasp of air before he was shoved under again. His freed arms flailed wildly, slapping and punching and clawing, searching for a way out. His legs kicked and stumbled. His hairs were yanked from his head, blood spilling down his scalp. "Help." He cried, coughing up blood and water for a few moments, hardly having a chance to breathe before Leader shoved him under again.

"Fierce laddy." Leader growled, digging his claws into the boy's back. Bubbled popped on the surface, the water being introduced to the air that Elladen might have had in his lungs.

The boy somehow wrenched himself free, and floundered for a few moments, red water flowing from between his cracked lips like a river flowing from a gap in a barrier. Elladen's body shook and seized as the water kept coming, letting him get only brief gasps of air.

Before the boy could get air enough to survive much longer, Leader was back on his feet, his paw grasping at the poor boy's shoulders, plucking him up. Blood was running down his back across his brown into his eyes, and now down his chest from his shoulders. Elladen was losing the strength to fight back.

There was a moment of total terror that made Galadriel gasp and her stomach rumble and her heart stop.

In a fit off terror, Elladen found his way back to the surface, catching one last breath. Then, Leader's strength re-asserted itself and the young elf's face was buried in water. His arms stopped flailing. His legs stopped kicking. Elladen stopped living.

Galadriel felt tears of fear and desperation wet her cheeks that had been dried with blood. A forbidden sob wracked her body so suddenly, it actually startled her.

When Leader let go of Elladen's head and stood up, the boy fell back. Blood was falling from a dozen wounds where too much hair had been pull out on his head, his shoulders and back a torn mess. Yet, in some way, he looked so peaceful. Just like he was sleeping, despite all the blood that began to pool around him.

"I shall send out the boy, but you shall see to it. It will mean watching your entire unit skinned alive and left to grovel until they die, then it will be your turn, if any harm comes to the body on any part of the journey."

The orc nodded fiercely, then grabbed Elladen, hoisted him over one shoulder, and scampered off. Leader grabbed the tub, dumped the water out so it flowed across the hard-packed ground, then pulled the tub into the other room.

"Enjoy your light whilst it lasts." Leader said as the crowd of orcs and goblins dispersed back to complete their other duties.

Galadriel's body was pushed against the bone and root bars, her arms intertwined in every space they could fit. Sobs made her whole body shake against her will. The water had flowed up to her knees, and even though it now dwindled to the bottom of her feet, she was sodden. Strands of Elladen's hair clung to her thin, spindly legs.

Slowly, Galadriel lowered herself to lean against the side wall, but her face stayed pressed to the door of her cage, her eyes glued to the last spot Elladen had lain.

Her eyes fogged up with tears, and the torches became dim and blurry as she tried to hold back but couldn't and the water formed a thin film, like glass, over her eyes.

I won't close them, Galadriel told herself. If I close them, I might miss the lights.


	7. Chapter 7

Galadriel Part 7

"Galadriel!" A voice hissed through her wretched dreams of blood and fire, slapping her into wakefulness.

The last time she'd closed her eyes, fighting back tears at the terrible death of the boy Elladen, the torches down the prison corridor had been lit. Now, there were no flames, all heat and friendliness that had existed here had vanished with the flame.

Brydda was glimmering in the cell across from hers. Galadriel gasped. The light of the Eldar!

Groaning, she pulled herself up to her trembling legs and wove her fingers through any space the bars would allow. "Brydda!" She whispered. The total darkness was dizzying. This half-darkness, however, was sickening. The only sounds were the far off screams of other prisoners waiting for death and the air shivering inside of Galadriel.

"No, Brydda, no!"

"Do not weep, my dear Galadriel." Brydda whispered, his voice catching in his throat. But it was too late. Tears loved Galadriel, and they always came easy. They always had.

Calmly, the dying elf fit his hand through one of the bigger gaps between bone and root, and pushed his arm all the way through. Brydda's face was pressed against the thing that held him tight. His glowing hand reached out for her.

"No, please no. No no no no no no." Galadriel cried as she fought to stretch her hand out to meet him. To touch him that one last time.

His fingers were cold, near ice. Pain flickered in Galadriel's chest at the total coldness that was becoming Brydda. "Please." She whispered, sobs coming quick and not at all sparingly. "Brydda."

One moment, their hands were intertwined in the glowing light of the Eldar fading, warm and cold, bitterness the sharpest flavor, like blood on the tounge.

The next, total darkness swept in. The light of the Eldar was gone.

Galadriel couldn't tell if she was standing or sitting. Sleeping and waking were the same. She'd forgotten how long they'd been here, but now everything blended into one. The sharp walls of the square prison became blurred lines.

There was no joy, not any more.

In what could have been a thousand years or a million, Leader came and the goblin threw the burning sticks into the torched, and blazing light filled her world for the last time. Brydda stood, his arm through the gap where he'd reached out to touch her. That last time. The last time she'd ever be touched again.

Galadriel screamed. She didn't hold it back. Her hold world was wrenched from her by a vengeful orc. She opened up and just screamed.

She howled until her voice cracked, then even past, until her mouth filled with blood and her eyes filled with a red haze. Her scream faded into a coughing fit.

When she pulled her hand back from her mouth, in the dim light of fading torched were fire was about to give out, blood was spattered across her taut pale skin covering her thin, spindly fingers.

She stopped screaming then. When Galadriel tried to speak, her voice was but a crackle, and the words turned into coughing and hacking, and when she pulled her hand away she could feel the wetness of her blood sprawling over it.

"Shhh. Do not try to speak." A gentle voice whispered, and a light blinked on in her black world. Only it couldn't have been a real light because she wasn't illuminated herself. It was like the light was a phantom, because her darkness was still hers, still undisturbed.

Slowly, in the time that felt like an eternity, the blurry glowing mass took a shape. It was of modest height, not tall but not short either. Its silver robe billowed, as if a breeze was drifting, though nothing was disturbing the air. Silver hair formed up around its head, and a pale face with bright, soulful blue eyes peered out towards her. It became him. His hands were tangles together, resting over his stomach, his slightly-round cheeks squished in a sad smile, his perfect lips thin with worry.

"Celeborn?" Galadriel asked, though the name she hadn't spoken in so long made her lungs gasp and blood seep from between her lips.

"Shhh." Celeborn said again, and he untangled his hands. "Do not speak, Galadriel. Please, do not speak. I cannot bare to see you hurt." Tears that seemed so real glistened on his eyes.

Galadriel reached a trembling hand out to meet his. Gently, Celeborn's thick hand encased her thin one, as in death just as in life.

The glowing apparition was cold, the light of the Eldar surrounding him like a thick-woven blanket surrounds you. The distance between them shortened, though it took forever for Celeborn to be close enough to scoot her over. He sat against the wall and pulled Galadriel close. He smoothed the bloody and sweaty hair from her brow and whispered, his lips making Galadriel's skin crawl.

"I am not strong." Galadriel whispered. "I am dying, yet all I can think about it you."

Memories flashed back, of joy and love and passion, of Galadriel kissing him until his taste stopped blooming like a flower in her own mouth and instead turned into safety. Memories of falling asleep against him, and waking against him, his arms holding her close, his body keeping her warm, his love keeping her content and blissful.

"I missed you."

"Missed. As if you do not anymore." Galadriel pointed out, resting gently against him. She kept trying to convince her lungs to calm down and stop coughing, her blood to stop coming. Her body didn't obey, not this time.

"How can I miss you, if you came home to me, my darling?"

"What do you mean, home? I am nowhere near home."

"The home I speak of is not the home you think of." Celeborn replied simply. "It was the home we had before, before Middle Earth, before even that place across the seas. Home is truly that place before living, before existing. And you are coming home."

"What?" Galadriel couldn't make her brain see these things. She was hungry and thirsty and tired, oh so tired. "I am not close to home. I am so far away."

"Far from the forests where we loved last, yes." Celeborn nodded. "But you are closer to the end of living than you can possibly imagine."

"I'm…. going to die?" Galadriel asked, the last word ending with a sprout of blood, scarlet in the darkness.

"Yes. All men die, even elves." Celeborn replied, his voice gentle.

"I can't die, not here!"

"I died far from Lothlorien, where we loved, and yet I found my way home. Home to my lover and soon to our first child."

"Elrond!" Galadriel gasped. "He is an elven lord of the last of the third rings he will come next. My baby!" She wailed.

Her cry couldn't last long, because blood was always one step ahead, blossoming in her mouth, and Galadriel spat to get it out.

"Do not fret, my lover. Home is safer than you can imagine. It is warm there, and lovely, and there we feast every evening, and love every night, and awake in lover's arms each morning, and break out fast on the best berries and honeys. And there, everyone is friendly."

"Indeed." Another phantom became a glowing reality to Galadriel. Haldir's gentle features made Galadriel sigh for the friend she lost.

"My old friend." Galadriel spat the lake of blood near the wall, on the other side, where Celeborn wasn't sitting.

"Yes, home is all that Celeborn said and more. My lady, true friend, will be happy there, where all things are beautiful." Haldir smiled his easy smile, and stepped forward. He sat where she'd spit the blood, but he didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he just didn't care.

Galadriel suppressed a scream of fear when she saw her skin slowly beginning to glow. Celeborn held her tighter, Haldir placed a reassuring hand on her knee and scooted in closer, so their shoulders were touching.

"Do not fear, lover." Celeborn said.

"Yes." Haldir chimed in. "You shouldn't fear what comes next."

"Death is just another adventure." Brydda said, his ghost appearing in front of her and sitting, face to face, his hand whipping away the tears.

"One we must all take." Elladen's ghost looked terrified, but he took a place next to Celeborn, resting a hand on her head.

"The last, grand adventure." Thranduil said, sadly. He took the spot next to Haldir, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Galadriel closed her eyes, fading into the embrace of her family.

And she journeyed home.


End file.
